Adam Lambert and the Prisoner of Glamkaban
by munkyboywndr
Summary: Adam Lambert discovers love from beyond the call of his divinity in his acquantance, Kris Allen. Can the Nostalgia Critic defeat him? Or will true love, and the power of the Moon bring these star-crossed lovers together in the end? LambertxAllen
1. Adam Lambert briefly loses his keys

Adam Lambert and the Prisoner of Glamkaban

As told by a flagrant ladleful of gravy

Lightning rippled through the night sky, waking the beautiful young man sleeping in his cousin's bed. The sky and yard outside the window, which allowed our young protagonist to see the message that had just been sent to him from the heavens: it was time to awaken and fight crime. "Again, Zeus?" Adam Lambert asked of the brilliant light outside. "I just finished my shift." But the electricity was tenacious; another bolt struck the same place, probably waking up so many others in the suburban neighborhood. It didn't matter, however, as Lambert was only duly aware. When a god calls on a demigod like Adam, it's time to knuckle up and take the streets.

Five minutes after waking up, Lambert was fully dressed, sans one fabulously chic hat. He strolled across his room like a vacuum cleaner in the middle of the night, and reached for the closet door, which was filled entirely with amazing caps and a variety of scarves to fit his mood. He selected a nifty little black peasant hat and briefly considered a silken bandana to tie around his neck, but thought better of it and gently closed the closet doors. Upon doing so, he caught sight of a life-size poster of a late-80's Michael Jackson, whose single gloved hand, wavy hair, thick makeup, and characterized wink were forever immortalized in this photographic representation. Lambert shed a single, silent tear and made an expression as if to convey, "Yes. You have left us, but you'll be back in our hearts. Come back to me, Master Jackson." Then he dramatically turned around and stepped onto a circular rug in the middle of his floor.

FYEEEEWWWW

Adam's exact weight was registered to open the trap door hidden under the rug, which allowed him quick and efficient access to the streets. He opened his eyes after the air stopped rushing around him to discover that he was now in the middle of night-fallen suburbia, tranquil and resting despite the previous interrupting bolts of lightning. Adam smirked confidently as he used his L.A.M.B.R.T.O., a wrist-bound computer that allowed him to detect evildoers and crime in the process. He jumped into the air to get a better signal, and pinpointed a crime in the act!

ZZZZZOOOOOOOOOMMMMMuh

He was flying! Or if you prefer, he was falling with style. As Lambert glided through the clouds of the night, he noted tenderly that the city was so peaceful when it was at rest like it was now. A wave of affection rushed through him like an adrenaline rush, and he at once longed for one of his many boy toys for some hand holding action. Oh, but the crime, if he allowed it to continue unimpeded, could shatter that peace like a brick through a window. Gritting his sparklingly perfect teeth, Adam descended on a black limousine, not even denting the thing thanks to his fabulous landing. "Not bad at all, Lambert," he whispered to himself, allowing him this one moment of pride before becoming the crime-fighting, evil-destroying machine that he was.

Quickly, he assessed the situation: there was a hooded man with a gun threatening another young man in an alley across the street. "Gimme yo' money, dawg!" the hooded man, whose voice, Adam noted with a tinge of disgust, was unnaturally deeper and raspy, which was no doubt the result of smoking too much.

"Smoking's bad for your health!" Adam said as he gracefully dismounted the limousine, allowing his hair to beautifully sway in the wind. "Maybe you should quit before it's too late," he added dangerously.

"Man, get outta here, I gotta GUN," the hooded man said, again disgusting Adam with that horrible raspy voice.

"Yes, but what good is your gun against the power of glam?" Adam asked matter-of-factly, winking as he raised a single slender hand into the air and grasped at the moon, which suddenly became full. "By the power of Glamskull…! I HAVE THE POWERRRR!" and a shining bolt of moonlight shone on Adam, clearly indicating that he had been chosen by the gods to stop evils like muggings and the like.

"Man!" the hooded man yelped, and he fired two bullets at Adam. But without even trying, Lambert had turned the bullets into showers of rose petals, which gracefully spun around him. Adam grinned and pulled a bottle of wine, which he opened with a single wink at the cork; the wine poured perfectly into two glasses that appeared before Adam.

"Let's dance," Adam said.

"I can't!" the evil man with the hood said. "I'm… I'm no match…!" And with that, the ground beneath the hooded man opened up and he descended into hell.

"Hmph! I win," Adam said, winking again.

The young man that Adam had just saved gasped and ran to him, embracing him in thanks. "How can I ever thank you…?"

"Hmm," Adam said. "Perhaps a dance…?"


	2. Adam Lambert briefly loses his patience

Chapter 2

The young man's brown hair glistened in the shining twilight, giving him an angelic air, and he clasped his dainty hands, looking away in shame. 'I-I'm sorry,' he said to Adam, covering his cheeks to hide the flush that was creeping into them. 'But I don't think my dancing is worth it to you.'  
Adam whipped his head back in a glamourous guffaw. 'OH YOU,' he yelled. Then, he took the young man's chin in his hand and his eye twinkled a twinkle that was brighter than the sun and also darker than the not-sun. 'Everyone's dancing is worth it.'  
The young man fainted.

An indeterminable amount of time later, the young man awoke in a large circle of lavender light. The air seemed to shimmer when he peered about, like there were clouds of very fine glitter raining from the heavens. He sat up and rubbed his head, and found that there were sheer curtains of crimson strewn about the large room, and large windows flung beams of moonlight through them, making him feel as if he were in a faerie fountain of sorts. He placed the back of his hand upon his forehead, wondering how he had come to appear in this room. He thought back to the evening that he had just escaped.  
He recalled the heartbreak that led to his exit into the night air—his deepest love had rejected him and he had run from the apartment building in tears… Or he had thought she was his deepest love. Folding his arms across his blue tweed coat, he had walked through the empty, dark suburbs, and found himself walking towards a 7-11. A mugger in the alleyway beside it, and… And what happened?  
'Why, ho, ho, ho,' said a perfect voice. The voice was perfect in its perfection, had a musical tone to it. It was so perfect that the young man wasn't sure from whence it was coming. 'You're awake,' finished the voice.  
The young man coughed nervously. 'Y-yes,' he managed. 'Who… Where are you?'  
Then, suddenly, he caught sight of a figure descending from the ceiling. It was but a silhouette, masked by clouds of pale purple smoke and glits of shimmer. It never reached the floor; it only hovered in place, about a foot from the floor, which was a place people did not usually go.  
'I mean, what's…' the young man mumbled. His words had left him.  
'Tell me your name, young thing,' said the voice of perfection.  
'My name is… Is Kris,' said the young man. 'Kris Allen.'  
The figured performed a pirouette in mid-air, and, still spinning, then landed in the space of floor directly before Kris, whose mouth dropped open in awe.  
'Surely your father was but a humble thief,' said the wonderful being that stood before him now.  
Dazzled, Kris rubbed the back of his head. 'No… He sold insurance. He's an insurance salesman.'  
'Oh,' said the man, who had perfect black hair that went up and back in a wave, like he had whipped his hair back attractively and it had miraculously stayed that way. He coiled a chiffon scarf around his fingers, whose nails were painted black, but with one metallic pink checkmark on each thumb. 'I thought he would be a bandit… Because he indisputably stole the stars…' He winked a wink the size of Jupiter. 'And put them in your eyes.'  
Very suddenly, Kris remembered what had happened. He had swooned, and fallen into a state of sparkle-induced sleep. He felt his ears and cheeks go a bright shade of pink and covered his mouth.  
'Now you are well, I presume?' the man asked of him, swiftly changing the subject.  
'Y-yes,' said Kris, embarrassed. 'I'm sorry.'  
'No apologies,' the man said abruptly. 'None at all. For I will merely take that dance another evening. Not tonight, but another night.'  
'But…' began Kris, but he trailed off, trying to see the man's face. He couldn't do it; it was in shadow.  
'Turn around and leave through that door, and you will find yourself home,' the man told him calmly. Then, he inexplicably disappeared.  
'Wait,' said Kris. But he was gone.  
Obediently, Kris stood, brushed the shimmering dust from his black jeans, and slipped behind the sheer green curtains, through a large door. He walked through it, and found himself directly in front of his apartment building. He looked behind himself, to peer back into the mysterious building from which he had just emerged, but there was no trace of it. There were only the trees of the park across the street from his home. He walked dumbly toward his apartment, wondering if he had dreamed the events of the night, or if he would ever run into the wonderman that had stolen his composure from him that night.


	3. Adam Lambert briefly loses his virginity

Adam Lambert and the Prisoner of Glamkaban

as told by an overworked and underpaid table umbrella

Seven months after the night that since haunted Kris's most secret and desperate dreams, he found himself in a stupor. This stupor was not unlike a post-traumatic stress disorder, such as the kind of feelings (or lack thereof) one would experience after a building containing all of one's possessions, loved ones, and memories had exploded for seemingly no reason at all. He had divorced his wife, moved out and gotten a flat in suburban Britannia to escape the pain, and then begun working as a part-time employee at a small coffee shop in the town. It had been amusing work for a while, but more and more he began to feel as though there was a piece of himself missing, like someone had borrowed his arm and had forgotten to give it back.

"Oy!" said a gruff Britishman, clothed in a pinstriped suit and adorned in a stylish top hat and handlebar mustache. "Pint ovah he-yah!" The man's definitive accent was like the cry of a tornado siren, urging Kris from his mid-day slumber to take shelter in the basement. It was a moment before Kris remembered where he was and that this man apparently wanted a pint of coffee.

"Um, yeah, what kind of, um, coffee would you like?" Kris said, pulling out his notebook and cheap pencil to take the order.

"Wot!" the Brit sniffed disparagingly, clearly considering the marvelous chances that must have aligned to allow this American to work in his town. "Oy! Yoo tellin' me that yo'r lot don't serve no alky he-yah?"

"Um, no," Kris said, watching the rest of the room as it appeared to darken and dim as he took on this horrible customer. A spotlight shone on the British man and him, and a disco ball lowered itself from the ceiling. As it spun and sparkled, Kris nervously began to doodle on his notebook. "This is a coffee shop."

The Brit looked as though he were about to open up a can of whoop-ass, and indeed reached into his pocket to produce a canister of aerosol, but someone cracked a whip and the glass door opened. Kris glanced up to note that a man had just entered, looked back at the angry British man, and then did a double take of his newest customer. Adam Lambert! What was this veritable pole dancer of the gods doing here, in Britain of all places!

"Hey," Adam said, smiling comfortably and walking in slow motion toward the back of the line.

_Hey_, the word that Adam had said to Kris with the same casual confidence that he imagined that Batman might have if he were talking to himself in the mirror. _Hey_, _how's it going? Hey, look at me. Hey, I'd like a vodka martini._ Anything for him! Kris loved Adam Lambert's music like he loved to breathe, and he would go across the world in a heartbeat and come back in less than another to get him whatever it was that he desired. Oh, but Kris's heart belonged to the shadow-coated man from the sparkling plumes of wonder that had saved him from that horrible smoking man. He clenched his fists in silent fury as he remembered that evil, evil mugging man.

The British man was making noises with his mouth and shaping angry words of Britishisms, but Kris's eyes were dazed and unfocused as he attempted to listen the nonsense. Eventually, the British man pulled out a rocket launcher in the hopes of somehow convincing this part-timer that what he should serve should be bourbon or tequila, not coffee. "Oy!" he bellowed, fitting a rocket into the device. Kris dazedly blinked, still vaguely aware of the situation's severity. He had the air that a ten-year-old in the 90's might have after shaking hands with Michael Jordan or maybe being offered a hand job from Brittany Spears. Just as the Brit's hand clenched on the trigger, however, there was a rush of purple glitter and black confetti, and from the gun, instead of a rocket, burst Adam Lambert, who had disappeared from the back of the line.

"Adam!" Kris whispered urgently.

"Mr. Lambert!" a young woman sitting at a table cried, fainting.

"Wot!" the Brit barked indignantly.

"Adam!" said the manager of the coffee shop, spilling some coffee on the floor.

"Me," Adam said, winking as a tidal wave might just before it crashed into a coastal city. He sat on the register and grinned down at the British man condescendingly. "It costs three Adam Lamberts to purchase alcohol at this location," he explained with the deft air of a ballerina spinning in place. "Do you happen to have that on you?"

"I," the Brit stammered, producing incoherence like smog from a car in the 80's. "I can not."

"Then," Kris said, suddenly regaining his composure. "It appears that I can not serve you this day." An awkward tension stills the air, and for one brief moment that seems to last for two seconds too long, Adam's and Kris's eyes lock on each other.


	4. Adam Lambert briefly loses his earring

Chapter 4: How was it possible? And more importantly, how was it possible?

The customers in the coffee shoppe were applauding because of this display, and amongst the din, Adam and Kris merely eyed each other in approval. Kris managed to pull an awkward, nervous smile from deep in the center of his cardiac organ and display it for Adam, who placed his right foot upon the counter on which he often collected money. Adam wore a black, leather dress shoe, and above it, a blue and green striped sock. He rested his leather-clad right elbow on his bent knee, and looked Kris' body up and down briefly. Then, he smirked at the pad of paper Kris clutched. 'Nice drawing,' he quipped coolly.  
Kris, perplexed, peered down at the doodle he had been creating whilst taking the angry British man's loud order. He hadn't even been paying attention to his two-dimensional creation, even while he was making it, and as he looked at it now, it was the first time he had actually seen its depiction.  
It was a detailed, shaded illustration of Adam, flying through the air, having leapt from a trapeze.  
'O-oh,' said Kris, mortified, and he dropped the pad, as if it had burnt him.  
Adam only shook his head and chuckled. The applause was still carrying on in the background, but now everyone in the shoppe joined in on his amusement and laughed enthusiastically.  
'I-I'm sorry,' Kris said passionately, flushing.  
Adam paused, waiting a moment and allowing Kris to revel in his panic.  
'No apologies,' he said softly.  
Kris froze. His blood ran cold. Then it ran hot. Then it ran normal, but Kris was nervous and shocked.  
He whipped his head up to look upon Adam, only to find that the latter had abruptly disappeared, and in doing so, had apparently served everyone in the shoppe their not-yet-ordered coffee. Kris peered about wildly, and then yanked open the register drawer, which contained piles of glittering cash, and one note, scrawled in sparkling purple ink:  
_Courtesy, from your friendly neighbourhood Adam Lambert. _  
From somewhere in the room, Kris heard a familiar voice that made his hair stand on end, along with other parts of him. 'Still waiting on that dance…'  
Adam's hit, 'Pick U Up,' suddenly began playing on the speaker system in the shoppe.

Adam lounged in his lair, surrounded by plumes of exotic peacock feathers. They were immense, each the size of a family-size refrigerator, and there were hundreds of them, circling Adam and tickling his perfect, godly features.  
Now was the time Adam would normally be taking his fourth beauty nap of the day, but he couldn't seem to sleep; his mind was consumed with images of the same young man. Kris…  
So plaintive, so artistic, and so beautiful.  
Adam didn't know why he was so fascinated with Kris Allen. He normally found everyone entirely resistible, but Kris was proving to be the exact opposite. Him and his little plaid shirt as he attempted to deal with the drunken Brit…  
Suddenly, a TV screen the size of a couch whizzed from a slot in the wall and positioned itself before Adam's gleaming blue eyes, the words 'A message for the Captain' fading in and out of focus on the screen. 'Play message,' Adam sang loudly, lingering on the last note, and then falling into a diminuendo.  
Suddenly, on the screen, a man appeared. Adam recognized the green eyes first; then, he registered the tie, and then the hat. Then, he recognized the rest of the face. 'Critic,' he whispered, sitting up; the television followed him without missing a beat.  
'Yes, it's me,' said the Nostalgia Critic, onscreen; he then leaned back in his terrifying black computer chair and cackled a cackle that made all the cacklers in the world cease cackling for no less than two months and four days. 'How have you been, Adumb Lame-bert?'  
'Ooooh,' Adam seethed. 'What do you want, Critic?'  
'I just wanted to let you know that I know your secret,' the illustrious Critic let slip from his evil, evil lips.  
'What secret?' snapped Adam.  
'I know the little Idol urchin that has stolen your heart, Lampert,' said Critic, purposefully mispronouncing Adam's surname, a tactic he had picked up when he spent a day napping in a sixth-grade math classroom. 'And I just wanted to let you know that the "Fever" you have for him is going to be your downfall.'  
'Why? Who? Whatever would you happen to mean?' Adam yelled, but a burst of horrible, evil laughter spewed forth from the Critic's nasty little mouth and then the image disappeared from Adam's screen. Adam grit his perfect, pearly-white teeth in beautiful fury. He stood; then, he dropped to his knees, careful to not ruin his shining black leather pants; then, he held out his palms and flung his head back. Then, he released one powerful cry of power: 'NOOOOOOOOOOO!'


	5. Adam Lambert briefly loses his eyeliner

Adam Lambert and the Prisoner of Glamkaban

Call: 800-588-2300 …today

Meanwhile, in the most evil place in the universe:

The Nostalgia Critic paced his basement uncomfortably. He knew that he had to destroy his greatest foe, Captain Lambert of the Shining Sand Brigade, and he knew that in order to properly subdue this opponent he'd have to attack his heart, which was conveniently represented by a single man, one part-time worker at a coffee shop in suburban Britain. But did he have the gall to do this, to follow through on what had to be his second-most-dastardly plot ever, to rob the world of a man whose sole happiness was to… to…

"No," Critic whispered to himself, into the night. He jumped through his window like a cat, and then crawled through the window, like… like a cat. Then he rolled over and brushed up against the trunk of a nearby sequoia tree, like a cat. "There is nothing joyful about what Adam Lambert does," he said in a snide tone, shaking his head like a lion might unfluff his mane. His red tie whipped back and forth like a pendulum, no doubt hypnotizing the air around him as he prepared to leap onto the roof of the building in a single bound. Then, as he shook his hips in preparation, he suddenly changed tactics and leapt onto the branch of the tree beside his house and onto the roof from there. "Always gotta do the unpredictable," Critic said, and added under his breath, "like a cat."

Now, bathed in the moonlight and on a flat and dry plane that was the roof of his secret lair, the Nostalgia Critic was able to reflect on just how he had come to be here, plotting revenge and living the dream. "It began four years ago," he said to the moon, who had always been there for him, "in my mother's basement."

_"Doug!" The voice of his irritated birthgiver rang into Doug's ears like a nuclear bomb, ravaging a city without a second thought. "Doug, take out the garbage."_

_Doug grudgingly separated himself from staring happily at his computer, which had for the last three weeks displayed nothing more than a slideshow of photos of the Angry Videogame Nerd, set to Letters to Cleo's 'Co-Pilot,' on loop. As the boy trudged up the stairs from the basement and into the kitchen, his mother slurped a martini unpleasantly, and spat at him as he crossed the floor to get the garbage. "Ma!" he cried, shedding two subtle tears. "Ma, why!"_

_But there was no answer. She swished some more vodka and spat it at him again, unpleasantly making a loud hoot when she mostly got his right shoulder blade._

___The Critic blinked, not remembering much else that had happened that night, because after she had covered him in vodka and started breakdancing on the counter, he had blacked out and woken up with a knife in his hand and the comatose daughter of the President of the United States tied to the side of his head. His sentence had been fourteen years in Azkaban, which was a place that no one had ever heard of nor had been. As a result, there were no guards or other prisoners, which made the experience much like living at home, but without food or an abusive guardian. In the middle of his first year's term, however, Doug had awoken from a hunger-induced coma to discover Adam Lambert dusting the bars of his cell with his tongue. "A… Adam Lam… Lambert," he mumbled in the midst of his delusion._

_"__Mmm!" Adam had said as he grinded himself against the door. Then, he posed, and Azkaban warped and was born anew, with a bright and friendly sign at the entrance which read, "Glamkaban," and all of the depressing black bars and stone walls were replaced by very long Twizzlers and vivid interactive television screens. After being forced to watch reruns of old movies from the 80's and 90's, Doug became certifiably insane, renamed himself the Nostalgia Critic, and began terrorizing the internet with his faux rage and trendy red ties._

The Critic snapped from his reverie, and howled at the moon, summoning a large bowling ball, which had Kris Allen's face on a sticker stuck to it. He stood up slowly and swung the ball with all of his might at a set of bowling pins, each of which had Adam Lambert's face hand-painted on them. "IT BEGINS TONIGHT, LAMP-URT! GAHAHA"

Meanwhile, in suburban Britannia, Kris sat up suddenly from his late afternoon nap, his hair slightly parted from having slept on it for the last two hours. He had an uneasy feeling, as though someone had poisoned a rich person's food or perhaps bought a small animal to be used as a typist for a newspaper. "Mmh," he groaned, realizing that there was no way either of those situations could possibly be true, and to have suggested them was ridiculous. "Adam," he said for no discernible reason.

"Yes," a voice purred in the darkness, "Adam."

"Who…!" Kris said a bit too loudly, looking around his darkened room wildly. "Who is it!"

"It is I," the menacing voice proclaimed, "the Nostalgia Critic!"

Thunder cracked outside like the sound of Adam Lambert while he cooks his breakfast. "Wh-whatever would you want with someone like m-me!" Kris gasped demurely. "Surely I could not be of any use to… to anyone like y-you!"

"Oh, but you can," the Critic replied with an evil tone. "And don't call me Shirley."

Kris wailed loudly, signaling a spotlight with the outline of Adam's face on it to be lit from the top of Big Ben, "ADAAAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMM"


	6. Adam Lambert briefly loses his hair

Chapter 6: Sometimes, when Kris reads the newspaper, he pretends all the headlines are about Adam.

Adam awoke with a start and a fashionable glare, which was accentuated by his smoky, dark eye make-up. He sat erect, clutching his black satin bedsheets. He had just awoken from a horrible dream, one in which something terrible and awful had happened… But what had happened? Adam couldn't, for the life of him, remember the dream anymore—just how it made him feel. He rubbed the back of his neck.  
His bed was a work of art. It was covered completely in black velvet and satin, and was suspended from the ceiling by rope that was made entirely of recycled cereal boxes, and had purple taffeta streamers wrapped around it. Adam, suddenly desperate to be freed from his wonderful bed, leapt from it like the circus performer as which Kris had portrayed him in his coffee doodle.  
He landed upon the floor, and then rolled across the shining tile and onto his white zebra-print rug. Then, he stood. The threatening message conveyed to him by the evil Critic the day before played over and over in his mind, like the iPod of his brain was stuck on repeat. Adam clutched his perfect, shimmering head.  
He wandered into his kitchen and retrieved a bottle of Chateau Romani; then, he stood on the side deck to drink it directly from its crystal bottle. The milk refreshed and calmed him. He placed the bottle firmly onto the railing on the outside of his deck, and then he winked at it, and it disappeared, whisked away into the dishwasher.  
He gazed into the night sky, demanding of the gods why he had experienced a nightmare that night. The stars glimmered, and shone, and sparkled, and gleamed, almost as brilliant as Adam's wonderful eyes. Then, he noticed a light in the sky that was not of the stars. He narrowed his smoky eyes. Then, he leapt into the air. He was still in his pajamas—for now.  
He did six flips in the air, and then landed in a large tree; when his feet reached the bark of the branch, he was fully dressed in the most fashionable outfit anyone had ever seen—not that anyone was awake right then to view it. From his new vantage point, Adam could see what it was in the sky. It was the British Adam Signal. His wonderful mouth fell open in horror.  
Who was in Britannia that needed his assistance? It could only be one person. He shot into the air like a rocket, and coincidentally, the Lambert Rocket appeared from the southwest to catch him. He then rode in the rocket towards the northeast, to see about the BAS.

'Who are you?' Kris demanded of the Critic, who turned about in his computer chair, kicking his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles slippers. 'What do you want with me?'  
'I suggest you shut up before I make you watch the Garbage Pail Kids,' Critic muttered, and at this Kris submitted. He averted his eyes, making a point of staring at his hands, which were tied together with film that had been pulled from a video tape of Homeward Bound 2: Lost in San Francisco. The film was too tight, and his hands were an odd shade of red from bad circulation.  
After a few minutes of biting his lip nervously, Kris worked up his courage again. 'Seriously, though…'  
The Critic interrupted him. 'It's time! Shut up, shut up, shut up, it's time!' He clicked on his computer for a bit, and then faced his webcam. 'Hello, I'm the Nostalgia Critic. I remember it so YOU don't have to! And today we're doing something a little different than usual.'  
He held up one finger at the camera, to indicate that anyone watching would be waiting for only a moment before the Critic returned, well… momentarily.  
His evil feet led him to Kris, and his evil hands lugged the chair to which Kris was tied over to his evil webcam. 'I like cats!' Then, he glared at his lap. 'Damn it. I keep forgetting to not say that.'  
'I like cats, too—'  
'Shut up! Shut up!' the Critic yelled. He faced his camera. 'I have this horrible boy here today because I thirst for tuna! Blood! I thirst for blood!' He leered at Kris. 'The blood of a virgin.'  
'I'm not a virgin,' said Kris awkwardly.  
'Shut up. You're a virgin and you know it.'  
Kris hung his head. 'I know…'  
The aura of evil that surrounded the Critic was so evil that Kris couldn't believe how evil it was. His toothy grin was even more evil than his aura. Each individual tooth was more evil than anything Kris had ever seen. In fact, the Critic was… evil.  
'Adam will stop you!' yelled Kris.  
'He can't! Your stupid glammy guy can't stop me!' screamed the Critic vehemently. 'He can't! Maybe he can turn a jail into a festering pile of stupidity that sparkles and makes you watch the worst movies of all time…' He stared at his hands, traumatized and sickened by the very memory of the Full House treasury. '…but he can't defeat me! Not when I have a secret weapon up my pant leg!'  
Kris stared, aghast and horrified, at the Critic, wondering—if what was up his pant leg could defeat Adam Lambert, the gods only know what he had up his sleeve…


	7. Adam Lambert briefly loses his marbles

Adam Lambert and the Prisoner of Glamkaban

as told by six tater tots at the bottom of a bag

Adam landed on his Adam Lambert Rocket, (or ALR, if you prefer) with the deft grace of a swan imbued with the powers of Spider-Man. He gazed into the distance, apparently worried about something. What was this something, this subject that could capture the beautiful attention of one of god's gifts to mankind? Why, tonight it was the state of Britain, and what could possibly have been so evil as to set off the British Adam Signal. He sighed as the rocket passed over the Orient, and elephant-riding children screamed his name in their sleep. "Adam! Adam hash-ralaaaah!" It was gibberish, of course, but Adam knew what they meant. They meant that he was doing the right thing.

"I know," he whispered, comforting them in as deeply a way as anyone or anything could have managed. And with that, he pulled open the hatch of the rocket and slid in with the serene quickness of a lioness on the hunt. He was now in what appeared to be the cockpit of a car with far too much machinery for its own good.

"Mmm," huffed Christopher Lloyd, gunning the accelerator to hurry their ascent into the heavens. "Are you ready, Adam! We've little time!"

"Of course," Adam said, smiling calmly. He was distracted, worried deeply about the state of Britain, but moreover the state of his newfound emotional fixation, Kris. He rested his chin, which was beyond perfect, so perfect that one might mistake it for the cleft of a picturesque mountain with accompanying waterfall. It was in his perfect, perfect hand that he rested his chin, holding himself smartly between the nocks of his forefinger and thumb.

"When this baby hits 88 miles per hour, you're going to see some serious shit," Christopher huffed again, staring wildly at a screen which to us displayed nothing, but to him displayed everything.

"Let's punch it," Adam whispered, and the ship reached its peak speed of 5000 miles per hour all at once, surpassing the need for speed. The ship suddenly lurched into space, entering immediately into a wormhole, which sped up the craft even faster. Adam impatiently rapped his fingers on his free hand on the window, which had a crack in it from normal wear and tear, but which healed itself from his divine touch. Then, suddenly, Adam backflipped over his seat and to the cockpit. "There's no time!" he shouted impatiently. "I must run!"

Christopher Lloyd nodded, understanding the severity of the situation. "Then go, you son of a god's father."

Adam breathed on the cockpit door, which exploded outward into the anti-space of the wormhole, and then dove out into it with the poise of a scuba diver. He landed on the side of the wormhole, and then began to jog forth, immediately surpassing the spacecraft in speed, and then picking up his pace in his worried state. Then, as space-time warped around him as it so often did, this time it did it for real, which caused Adam to run even faster.

Meanwhile, back in Britain…

The Critic had just finished selecting a horrible movie—a movie so horrible, even Jim Carrey swoons at the mere whisper of its title—and had rubbed it on Kris's face like a damp washcloth to whatever sanity and purity that he had left. "See this? Smell this? Taste it?"

"Y-yes!" Kris said, beginning to cry. "Please, pl-please, stop!"

"Never!" the Critic replied, licking Kris's face and purring. He turned on the television and raised the video cassette aloft as though it were an item he had found in the Forest Temple. "Now! Uhhhh… jeez, these British televisions are so complicated."

"You just—you just, no! You just put the tape it and press—"

"Wait, so I put it in, but it wants to—"

"No, you just hit play, and—"

"Wait, there's play and then there's PLAY, and I mean, ha…"

"No, just—"

Suddenly, the wall was destroyed by a spaceship, which screeched to a halt some ten inches from Kris's face. Through the window, Kris could see Christopher Lloyd, who waved excitedly at him. He smiled politely, but because of some professional differences, did not feel the need to do anything more than that. The Critic gasped and did two cartwheels. "It's you! Could… could you do something for me?"

Christopher emerged from the starship rocket with his hands placed on his hips, majestically posing for the Nostalgia Critic. "Yes?" he asked, suave in demeanor and yet relatable in his swagger.

"Could… c-could you say, 'I was frozen today?'"

Christopher Lloyd threw back his head in raucous laughter as though this was the most natural thing for him. Unfortunately, he paused too long, which threw the Critic into a delirious frenzy, and he shot Kris five times, immediately killing him.

"," cried a divine roar of furious rage, and from under the floor burst a gloriously shining Adam Lambert, picking up Kris and flying into the early morning sky, tears streaming from his wonderful face. Behind him was a warping spiral of space-time, which wrapped itself around the home, taking the Nostalgia Critic and Christopher Lloyd with it. In his arms, the dying Kris Allen was losing blood fast, but the bullets had removed themselves from his body, and his skin was healing itself.

Then, in a miraculous warping of space-time, Kris was revived, living once more! There was no sign of the bullet wounds, and his clothes were all but ripped from his body. "Y-you… you saved me!" Kris breathed, reaching up nervously to caress the perfect visage of Adam Lambert's cheek.

Adam laughed again, and they flew into space together, with Christopher Lloyd and the Nostalgia Critic. "We shall finish this battle… in SPACE."


	8. Adam Lambert briefly loses his science

Chapter Whatever-This-Is: Christopher Lloyd is an alien

The Nostalgia Critic and Adam Lambert faced off on the moon. The Critic had donned his plaid knickers and golden sweater vest in preparation for this battle. He leaned casually against the ridge outside of a crater, grinning and purring. Adam was wearing his previous outfit, sans the silk scarf, and was folding his arms immaculately. Kris was now wearing his uniform from the coffee shoppe, and tweeting on his iPod, bored of the situation already.  
'It ends here, Critic,' Adam whispered, and his breath wafted across the surface of the moon and coated the Critic's face, making him feel ill.  
'Yes, it does, Douche-bert. Yes, it does,' Critic purred. He reached into a pocket and pulled from it one small object. It unfurled and revealed itself to be a messengerboy hat, of the same colour as the vest, with a red pom-pom on the top of it. He pulled it onto his head, to replace the black hat that had flown from his reach in his journey to space.  
'Where'd the old dude from Back to the Future go?' Kris inquired.  
The Nostalgia Critic and Adam Lambert looked at him oddly, as if surprised and confused by his presence. Then, they peered about, in search of the man in question. 'I don't know,' said the Critic, but Kris only grunted apathetically at his iPod.  
'I KNOW YOUR WEAKNESS, ASSHOLE,' the Critic informed Adam politely.  
Adam smirked sensually, lounging in the grey dust of the moon's surface, the lack of wind whipping his hair about attractively. 'You silly, silly bean,' he whispered. 'You are a bean of silliness because of your silly, bean-like assumption that you know of any weakness of mine.'  
'Oh-HO,' the Critic hoed. He then performed a high kick of impressive malevolent power, maintaining the vertical position of his leg once it reached that point.  
Kris whipped around to face him. 'Oh, no,' he said. 'That's right. He said… He said he had something up his…' The Critic reached slowly into the pant leg on his knickers. '…pant leg.'  
From his trousers, the Critic quickly produced a large cage constructed of something peculiar and wet. He flung it through the lack of air and it landed, caging in Adam Lambert with its cageness.  
Adam found himself behind bars, in a cage constructed entirely of mud. He fell to his knees and clutched his head. 'N-no,' he whispered.  
'I-it's just mud,' said Kris, perplexed.  
'HOW DID YOU KNOW?' Adam wailed, rolling about within his cage.  
The Critic shot into the air, hooting with laughter and occasionally peppering in some hissing. From the bright night sky, he pointed one horrible finger at Adam. 'I TOLD YOU I KNEW YOUR WEAKNESS AND YOU DIDN'T BELIEVE ME WELL HA!'  
'How did you know the one antidote for glam? HOW?' Adam demanded of him from his spot in the dirt. The Critic curtseyed in mid-air and a meteor shower began to rain down upon them. Annoyed, Kris put his hood up.  
'DOES IT MATTER HOW I KNOW? DOES IT MATTER?' the Critic bellowed from the sky. 'ALL THAT MATTERS IS THAT YOU ARE INFERIOR AND I AM… UH…' He consulted his 'Thesaurus for Kitties'. 'AWESOME!'  
'CURSES!' screamed Adam Lambert.  
Kris bit his nails, unsure as to how to help Adam, until suddenly he recalled a spiritual song he had learned while played the Legend of Zelda as a teenager.

() (a) (V) () (a) (V)

'The Song of Time!' Kris said excitedly, snapping his fingers. Then, he ran over to the mud cage that contained a pop star and squirted his hand sanitiser all over one of the bars. It disintegrated before his eyes. 'Yes!' cried Kris.


	9. Adam Lambert briefly loses his Moon

Adam Lambert and the Prisoner of Glamkaban

as told by four thirteen-year-old squirrels

Adam Lambert pulled out his trusty shovel as the sky, the sky of space, was reflected in his glossy, beautiful eyes. He twirled it above his head like a cheerleader's baton, and cried the traditional war cry of the Cherokee, and suddenly the Moon glowed like a nightlight in the middle of a night. "Moon Glam Powers!" he bellowed, and the Critic did a triple-take. "TO MEEEEEEE"

The Moon suddenly began to quake and shiver like an anthill during a tsunami. Seventeen thousand horns began to protrude from its various craters, and lightning began to course from them like innumerable antennae, drawing on the power of Adam Lambert. The Critic whined irritably as the energy, apparently having been hidden in the Moon this entire time, was about to be used on him in some horribly fabulous way. "Why!" he screamed. "Why did this power not choose meeee!"

"Because," Adam murmured, concentrating on the Moon's glorious glory, "because you were not pure of heart, Doug."

"How did you know my name!" the Critic wailed. He grasped his head and writhed around on the ground. "NO one can know. No one WILL know!" He then lapsed into a power-coma, exuding the aura of cinematic criticism into the airless atmosphere of the Moon. This energy clashed with the Moon Aura of Lambert, as it would have come to be known if the following sequence hadn't taken place, and the Moon began to twist and warp around itself like a pie in the oven. "Pies!" the Critic spasmed as he rolled around in the Moon dust, potentially breaking the fourth wall but then backing off at the last second. "Pies are all I have ever loved or known!" And with that, the divine power of the Nostalgia Critic made the Moon shine like a star, and it turned into a massive flaky embodiment of baked grain, sugar, and fruit. As the brilliance of this transformation completed, the Critic was flying in space, lifting the Moon above his head like it was no problem. "Ho ho! When the Moon hits your eye," he began, hurling it at Adam and Kris, "like a big pizza pie…"

"That's… amore?" Lambert cried as the Moon struck his eye, dealing significant damage. He fell back into space, temporarily losing his composure. Kris gasped and dove for Adam, seeing for the first time any kind of emotional flaw in his idol.

"Adam, no!" Kris's face was suddenly stained with the tears of thousands of unborn divine children. Starlight culminated around him, transforming his body and making his already devilishly pretty façade into a more personal and properly representory visage. Instead of his shaggy and uncouth short hair, there were shining blue streams of starlight, which glistened in the spacedew, attracting the energy of a billion suns across the galaxy. He caught Adam in his arms and shed three tears onto Adam's face.

"It's… it's so… so beautiful," Adam whispered, making Mars explode for some reason. Then, Adam was revived. He leapt into the abscess of the Moon, and unleashed his magical fury upon the heavens and onto the Earth, drawing the fragments of the Moon Pie back unto himself. "You shall be destroyed, Critic," he growled, suddenly imbued with divine fury, "by your own hand!"

The Critic sighed and shot the Moon Pie, which exploded. "Not that way, Lambert," he said with a smirk.

"Yes, that way!" Lambert cried, causing the fragments of the Moon Pie to burst into purple flames and converge on the Nostalgia Critic.

"No way!" said the Critic, shooting each of the pieces with amazing precision.

"Yes way!" said Adam, turning the shattered pieces of the Flaming Moon Pie into bombs.

"No way!" said the Critic, disarming each with almost no effort.

This went on for some time, and Kris became bored, and so he flew into the Sun to make it stop being so yellow. He made it into a more aesthetically appealing blue, which seemed to compliment the Earth nicely. "This is much better." He glanced over at the battle between his beloved and his greatest foe, which had reached a fever pitch with Adam's Missles Raining From Beyond the Space of Space attack, which was being met by the Nostalgia Critic's Gun of Gun-Gun Bi-GunGun technique. "Eh! I sense… a new force!"

Just then, the robber from the first chapter arose from hell, arms folded and his cashmere sweater still partially aflame. "Dohohohoho!" he laughed evilly. "This isn't the end, Lambert!" With that, the robber rushed at Adam, fist cocked back. "Let's dance!"

Adam gasped in realization, and stopped his final attack to replace it with another final attack. "I will counter with…! The Dance of the Trees!" He began to twist and spin back and forth, performing an interpretive dance that would have made even Barack Obama cry through the night.

"S-so… beautiful…" whispered the robber, who spontaneously exploded with the fury of ten billion nuclear bombs. The energy from this explosion was enough to make the Nostalgia Critic sigh in happy tearful retribution, and he and the robber descended into hell, hands linked by their pinkie fingers.

As the newly-blue sun rose on a brand new day, free of the tyranny of the Nostalgia Critic and his robber friend, Alex Alexton, Adam Lambert and his new lover, Kris Allen, rested against each other from their perch on the heavens.

"Hey, Adam," said Kris.

"What," said Adam.

"I'm hungry," said Kris.

Then they went to KFC.

Mission accomplished.


End file.
